She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. An old woman took her in. The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. He must be tied behind the carriage. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. Good night. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. A few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party—with the exception of Quilt, who was left on shore —embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream—for the tide was in its favour—by a couple of watermen.
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