The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. . 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. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. “That sounds interesting.
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