“Let go!” said Ann Veronica, through her teeth, strenuously inflicting agony, and he cried out sharply and let go and receded a pace. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. “Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion. Winny, this is the last night I shall pass beneath your father's roof. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day.
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