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. " "If you mean the fugitive, Darrell, he has escaped through the back window," replied Jonathan. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. She cried out with the pain of it. It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively.
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