“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. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Promise me. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly.
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