‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. I will pray for you. ” “For the others,” Annabel said tearfully, “that is well enough. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. It was not your fault you failed. I wanted something alive. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish.
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