” Lucy added, growing weary. “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. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning.
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