"No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. 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 can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica. "Till then, I shall remain content," returned Wild. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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