of like, one seventy-five or something?” She looked at Michelle with worry. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. But I wrapped it in that nun’s gear you give me. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street.
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