She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. " "I'll tell you what. “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. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. One studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her.
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