It felt too good. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. Rotten, and covered with a thick coat of dirt, the boards of the floor presented a very insecure footing; the bare walls were scored all over with grotesque designs, the chief of which represented the punishment of Nebuchadnezzar. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. Come back—you must come back. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. The major’s hand stilled.
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