Her little white hand stole across the table. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. He seemed safe from the sickness, having been surrounded by the dying, he had witnessed the carnage up close and yet his health still prevailed. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you.
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