Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. “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. "Vot are you?" "Practising patience," growled Abraham. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. But it's so wonderful to watch you! Whenever you have written something beautiful, your face shows it.
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