At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. . “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. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. She peered into the darkness. I want to give you time to think. ” “Until some one takes pity on me and marries me?” He raised his eyebrows in mild appeal.
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