She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. “I am so very, very sorry. Dorling said deferentially. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. Spit of your mother. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. 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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