But Mr Jarvis said as how Miss Mary not having no brothers and sisters like, it were good to have friends. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. 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. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun.
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