‘It did not seem to me that it was so. ” “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. He could scarcely blame her. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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