A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. Have I your final answer?" "You have, Sir Rowland," she answered, in a feeble tone, but firmly. Then he got up and left her. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. " "Horror!" cried Jack.
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