“So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. “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. Read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire.
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