‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. “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 forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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