She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. “There is something which I must say to you. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “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.
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