The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. "I half suspect this is a highwayman," thought the Jew; "he's so ready with his cash. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. She hated the manor. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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