“You!” she exclaimed. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Daughters were not like sons. . “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. Surely he was imagining this picture. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. " "So she may," returned Jack, brightening up; "it's a good idea. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. I’m sorry. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver.
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