“A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. ’ Kimble chewed his lip, but his hostility was visibly lessening. “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. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged.
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