“You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. " "A fugitive. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison.
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