You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. ‘What a catalogue. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train.
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