. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. They mean something. 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. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. Find them at Remenham House—if you can.
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