“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. Do not mistake me. “After all, it’s our honeymoon.
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