A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. 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. “Stop!” He ran towards her. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow.
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