She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate.
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