“Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. "A little. “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. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk.
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