His father spoke for him. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. Explain to Sir John our feelings. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. 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.
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