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. "These writer chaps are queer birds. . Mr. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. I’ve got too much work. Though Lucy refused to personally implicate her, Mr. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. Mademoiselle has had no harm of me,’ Gerald said soothingly and bowed.
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