But his words were borne away by the driving wind. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper.
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