She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. ’ ‘You see,’ Melusine explained between mouthfuls of food, ‘poor Marthe had promised to my father that she will say nothing. She dare not risk it. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action.
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