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Her heart swelled to suffocation. 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. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice; "have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him onder de water. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth.
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