" "No. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. It had been a big event for teens across town. The Supper at Mr. ” Ann Veronica made a sympathetic little murmur. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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