Mr. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. They walked in silence. At second hand it would be unendurable. “So your father brought you here to live in the States?” John asked. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did.
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