” “We’ll have, thank God! ten myriad days to tell each other things. This done, he followed the course which Jack had just taken. Lucy ate without passion. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. 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. She moaned as he buried himself completely to the hilt. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. This gloom was impossible.
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