” Annabel’s hand stole into his. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. “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. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. “Take off your tunic.
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