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. She pushed. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is. But I do not even care if I am absurd. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl.
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