“If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. “I’m not going to college, John. “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. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke.
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