“You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. ’ Joan sniffed. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. But you will, you will.
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