“My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Sorry. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. “But we satisfy one another. 266 She peered up at him.
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