Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. Detention was merry for the other detainees. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. .
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