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. "Not as I loved mine. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. "Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me.
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