Nuns, I mean. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. We shall see. 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. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. It's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow.
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