Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. In the afternoon she had considered certain doubts very carefully, and decided on a more emphatic course of action. I'll wait for you down here. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. 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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