Ann Veronica had a number of fragmentary impressions of Alice strangely transfigured in bridal raiment. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. He did not spend more time with her. Jack had well-nigh fallen too. How Jack Sheppard was again captured. 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.
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