‘Let me see if our minds are attuned. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. 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. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said.
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