“How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken and hollow. Like carpenter, like chips. Now, Sir, will you please to follow me?" Mr. . Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent.
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