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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. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. "Those tears will do you good. ‘Parbleu, the house, is it broken in the least? I do not think so.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 20:31:42