" "You believe—you know it," replied Jonathan, fixing one of his sternest and most searching glances upon him. “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. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. I throw up work—everything! I just teach in one school, one good school, three days a week. Oh, what have you been about now?’ ‘There is no need to be concerned. “I do not even know who you are. He stood still, almost breathless. Very well! I will try to help you.
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