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. There is no future for me here. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. I thank God for His sunlight on your face.
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