" "What do you think of my sketch, Jack?" said Hogarth, handing him the drawing. "Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. “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. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. She was trembling a little. ’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Stanley went on, “but there are things— there are stories about Ramage. ’ Too late he saw his error. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. . Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. .
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 09-09-2024 21:51:12
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