As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. In the first place there were not so many suitable advertisements as she had expected. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. And see!" he added, as the figures drew back, and the lights disappeared; "it's a false alarm. ‘That is imbecile.
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