’ ‘Not dead, miss. 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. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point.
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