You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. 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. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs. He walked in her direction.
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