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. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. \" Cathy poured her a glass. Ireton will do no such thing," replied the head-turnkey. . "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair.
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