Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the Imperial College?” she asked. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin.
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