"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. 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.
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