“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 told him that I would help stage your kidnapping. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by.
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