Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. I stole away and walked to the railway station. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. And—the idea of committees, of hustings, of agenda-papers!” “I don’t see why the responsibility of beauty should all be shifted on to the women,” said Ann Veronica, suddenly remembering a part of Miss Miniver’s discourse.
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