“And some of them quite pretty and well dressed. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. You won't refuse me, I'm sure; so no more need be said about the matter. 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. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished.
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