She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. I love you—unendurably. The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ann Veronica, by H.
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