In stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. 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.
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