She had often wondered if Hoddy would ever go back to it. But now Ann Veronica knew what was the matter with her. “I had to. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. ‘That’s wicked, that is. So she built a shrine. Very well. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me.
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