“Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. Sheppard. It still failed in something. 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.
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