“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. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse.
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