It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. “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. Spurling has induced him to sit down again. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. It was a sovereign easily earned.
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