‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. B. 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. Luck. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton.
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