You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. “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. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. She was making it up. " "There's a funny idea in my head. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. " Further remonstrance, however, was cut short by the sudden entrance of Mrs. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured.
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