Twice we hired caterers. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. Fas du tout. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. I know now that I was mistaken.
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