The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. She reflected before answering. “I feel shabby and disgraced. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. You are infatuated. \"It's getting late John. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince.
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