But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. Or I should have made love to you long ago. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred.
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