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I knew it. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. Say something. 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. . ’ ‘He doesn’t sound like a desirable parti.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 20:08:21