There were lines in her face that age had not put there. 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. . After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes. She had warned him. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause.
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