At the sound of the door Ann Veronica uncovered a tearless face, and with one swift movement assumed a conversational attitude. 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. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the house there and then and coming after you.
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