Her patience was waning fast. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. “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. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way.
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