‘Laisse-moi. ” “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said.
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