It'll be turning over to-morrow. 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. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. It is like some accident. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. He went more easily this time. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne.
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