“I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. I won't have a beachcomber on the island. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter.
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