82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. “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. ‘You dare to come to me? What do you wish of me? Why have you come? I do not want you!’ She swept round on Gerald abruptly and he braced for the onslaught. There is nothing but your pride which stands between us. ‘She’s wearing a lightskirt’s clothing?’ ‘Nothing obviously so, I assure you. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad.
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