Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue.
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