He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. You couldn’t help it. And I want you for myself—for my wife. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. From the unlovely hillside his glance strayed to the several five-story towers of the pawnshops. Apparently, Jonathan was well acquainted with the premises; for, feeling about in the dark, he speedily discovered a ladder, up the steps of which he hurried. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. Our ideal had fallen. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended.
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