Mere formality. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. I burned it. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. 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. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend.
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