Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. ‘General, we do not know. 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. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy.
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