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She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. His literary instincts were reviving. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. “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. ‘What did you tell Valade?’ ‘Well, when I asked him what he wanted, he told me straight out that he had been told his wife was related to Jarvis Remenham, and he had come to see whoever lived here now that Jarvis was dead. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others.
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