“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. "Who is it?" "He didn't give his name, Sir," replied the maid; "but he's a young gentleman. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. What can she have done to deserve such a fate? Oh!” They both turned round at Anna’s exclamation. And don't neglect my instructions this time. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. .
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