Wood started to his feet. Gina, the eleven year old, just couldn’t take it and she ran away. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Then, naturally, I went on talking. 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. I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. I am not prying for my own amusement.
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