“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. "I'm not worth it.
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