“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. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. " "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood. “I am lonely.
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