He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. So far she had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. But shurely I'd know that vice," he added, turning his lantern towards the janizary. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. "Close the doors below! Loose the dogs! Curses! they don't hear me! I'll ring the alarm-bell. I want to be with you. Things that you and the nuns would not think about for—’ She stopped, biting back the words “for a young girl”. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things.
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