The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. “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. The pearls were really yours?" "They were left to me by my mother.
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