The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. “Of course, I remember now. And, as usual,” she continued, a little bitterly, “I seem to have been sent along with the dullest and least edifying of Mrs. 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. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet.
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