Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. “Stop,” he said. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. . She was only trying to distract you so that she might escape. It’s artificially chance. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. . He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. 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.
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