“I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. “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. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication. You will never be happy with this hanging over you. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical.
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