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. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. A silence ensued. . I’m sorry.
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