"You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. 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. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. But that possibility had been anticipated.
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