He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. “But about last night. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. .
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