Gosse was backing towards the table. “I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. “Just do it. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. But d—n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable.
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