“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. “You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony with things at home. He gripped the window-sill behind him. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. “Excuse me a moment. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought.
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