Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. 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.
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