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. The Reaper is not sated yet. ‘But that is excessively unkind of you, Melusine. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy.
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