An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. “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. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. I might have told you the truth.
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