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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. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. Good riddance to bad rubbish. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. She was not Madame Melusine Valade. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. His brain reeled. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. You know all this stuff is insured. Nothing else matters.
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