“Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see. "I have nothing. It was wonderful. She understood. “Don’t!” she begged. 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. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully.
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