" Awed by Jonathan's manner, Mrs. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. 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. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. "I forgive him his disobedience. ‘You make a game with me, I think. If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as like as not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket.
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