“I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. At the opening of the van doors and the emergence into the fresh air Ann Veronica’s doubt and depression gave place to the wildest exhilaration. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. I shouldn't care to express an opinion.
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