"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. 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. I had no idea!” She sat down abruptly and threw her wrists limply upon the table. Do you know what Spurlock has done?" "Mr. "But you said you weren't particular. Oh, I know.
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