“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. And stony broke. The panel in the bookcase. Another long interval elapsed. . The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Her moods were many and always striking. "Mother, I come to you. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it.
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