‘And all to help me. ’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. He thanked God for this talent of his. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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