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She drew a long breath. ” “Well, I have two,” said Mr. ” “I think,” Anna said, “that it was only his manner. . . We have met before. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. ” “It’s all the same,” said Miss Miniver. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship.

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