Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. She could not part with dignity. A quarter of an hour passed. 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. ‘Open the door, fool!’ Then he had Melusine by the shoulders and was hustling her into the hackney. “There’s no one here except me.
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