Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. 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. A deadlock. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring.
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