It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. 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. ’ ‘Melusine,’ repeated the old lady. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect.
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