‘Merci, dieu. “I lied, as I would have committed a murder, or done any evil deed sooner than lose you. ” “A—what?” Anna asked. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff.
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