” Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. He pretended to be unaware of the mishap.
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