All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. But, go and see who it is, love. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. He asked me to watch Mr. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her.
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