But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. “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. ‘In this case, I will not kill him at all, even that he should have remained to wait for my letter. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality.
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