‘Home?’ ‘To your family. 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. They were those of the Irish watchman. “What are you doing?” He cried. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. Had Gosse taken it as he escaped? What could she do? Gosse now knew that she was the daughter of Mary Remenham. He jumped back, cursing. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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