When he could find words, he tried by the most urgent solicitations to prevail upon the constable to let him out. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. Instantly she seized the poker and made a desperate effort to get them out again.
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