She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Goopes, she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones.
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