"Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. 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. And through all these defences and into Old Palace Yard, into the very vitals of the defenders’ position, lumbered the unsuspected vans. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy. "Something more than whisky did that. " Her utterance was here choked by sobs. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan.
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