But Jack eluded their grasp. The door opened. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late. Just an idea of mine. “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. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient.
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