The change in her face was not a pleasant one. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. ” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. 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. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. Damn! I’ve splashed. You care for me a little, I know. .
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