But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended.
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