“I don’t think she will,” she said. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition.
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