Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Twenty guineas, mind. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it. You said that it would bring trouble. No! That was impossible. “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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