"What do you want fot that coat, friend?" asked Jack, as he came up. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. Strange, I could never learn her history. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. 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. " CHAPTER XVIII. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites.
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