In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. Why should you who are queens come down from your thrones? If you can afford it, WE can’t. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. 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.
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