‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. Wood, furiously. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise. 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 turned the water off and handed her a towel. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. But Jack was too nimble for him. ” And she knew that she was safe.
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