Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. He did not spend more time with her. 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. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes.
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