“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. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. She's the boss.
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