The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. 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. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. "He seems infatuated about the lad," observed Wild. She bent down. “I don’t care what any one thinks,” said Ann Veronica.
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