She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. “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. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. But come, sir.
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