He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. 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. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. Tell him the truth, Annabel.
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