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 are beautiful, Lucy. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. And when I have finished killing your major, I shall also kill you. He did so care for you.
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