It 163 invariably leads to trouble. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her.
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