. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. “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. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight.
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