“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 have never loved you. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. She told us that it was a disguise. It was the first day you kissed me, under the willows, coming into Veraz. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist.
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