"What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. ‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. The day had become suddenly overcast. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. .
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