“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. 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. Yes, I can readily believe it. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me.
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