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. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison.
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