Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. “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. But one of these days everything will click back into place. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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