“If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. “Act three. ’ Her lashes fluttered. ’ ‘Why did you not claim it yourself?’ asked Gerald. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer.
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