And not a worthy tome in sight. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed 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. Don’t go back into Victorian respectability and pretend you don’t know and you can’t think and all the rest of it. I need you every day. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. Apparently I’m not to exist yet.
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