Her pulses began to race. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. We’ll have some buttered toast. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. ’ ‘Yes, Hilary, do stop hustling the girl,’ put in Miss Froxfield, much to Melusine’s relief and approval. ‘How fascinating.
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