For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. This was unscrupulous, he admitted, because he had no intention of following through on the seductive promise in his conduct. Quarter-staves, bludgeons, brown-bills, lanterns, swords, and sconces were alike shivered; and, to judge from the sullied state of their habiliments, the claret must have been tapped pretty freely. Oh, don't worry. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Manning, abruptly.
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