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. “Frightful lot of things aren’t settled,” said Ann Veronica. I swear it. I shall find him yet. “So you found Rhea, I see.
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