But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. “I must go. “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. But she was not to be tempted.
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