“You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn’t expected. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this. “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.
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