He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. 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. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. You will be my witness, Madame Joan. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better.
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