She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. It is dull—deadly dull. . "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. But you must tell her. 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. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure.
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