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. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. ‘It is nothing. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful.
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