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. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love.
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