"I might return the question. It was not your fault you failed. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. ‘Soldier of fortune. ’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss. I’m glad you could come. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. Roddy muffed two. 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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