She recognized the face but could not quite place it. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. There are so many things I want to tell you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is necessarily confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am really giving you the thread of emotion that should run through all this letter. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. “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. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek.
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