‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. “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. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has that misconception of them. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened.
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