Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. 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. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be.
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