The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. Spurlock grew cold. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. "Silence!" returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation.
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