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. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. Innumerable little puzzles were instantly solved.
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