It disgusts me that you should touch me. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. In a sense it alters nothing. He shot at me at the ‘Unusual,’ and the magistrates bound him over to keep the peace. The movement was then in its earlier militant phases, and one of the women only, Miss Garvice, opposed it, though Ann Veronica was disposed to be lukewarm. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast.
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