Too close, he reasoned, for safety. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. I don’t think you understand. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. “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. I should have known at a glance if it was.
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