” She smiled at him. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. “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. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. "Sir Rowland, I salute you as your nephew. ‘Good. She's my mealticket.
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