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. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. “Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our story?— and what we are doing?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. " "Well, you'll have lots of time down there. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain.
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