Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. I bring you tidings of an old friend. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. 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. He could not doubt it. However, confession of a fault makes half amends for it. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing.
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