“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 is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling. Tell the whole truth. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses.
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