A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. “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. Few men could have done as much. ’ He glanced at Roding. “I am too much in earnest,” he answered, “to be able to take this matter lightly. “I’m not the Devil. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you.
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