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 young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. She had a better voice than I, and the rest I suppose is only a trick. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night.
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