Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. ” She replied. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come.
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