I will dedicate my books to you. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. “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 think we are growing sensible,” he said. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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