“I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. You do not know him. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands.
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