“Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. “I have the right to be here. 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. "Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "What!" vociferated Trenchard. ‘Oh, famous. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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