“You!” said Ann Veronica. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. ” “It is very nice of you,” Anna said softly. She did not know herself. ’ ‘Yes, but they did do so. “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.
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