Mr. ’ ‘Gammon!’ burst from the captain, who had just tossed off a glass of Madeira. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Yet he stays. We’ve brought a carriage to take you back to London, and I’ve settled with Trodger, who has just given me a coherent account of the affair. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. 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. For so far she had kept it uncashed. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary.
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