On the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. 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. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. She's the boss. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. ” She wanted to feast upon him badly, his passion, his youthfulness.
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