But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. “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. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. . I don’t conceal it. And every day's experience proves that I was right. ” He pronounced this with an air of profound conviction and with his eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him.
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