"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. “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. Besides the table close by loaded with books, there was a central table with upright chairs around, covered in a multitude of papers, inks and quills, and assorted unrelated items such as playing cards. " "It shall be, Sir," replied Ireton, bowing. . ’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room.
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