It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. At once. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. He moaned. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town.
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