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. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. But this only incensed the assailing party the more. "Hear me out," said Jonathan.
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