“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. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. He blurted, “I was just telling Lucy that I have finished an important work. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father.
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