"The night before last, Mr. Just then—I was nervous. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. Her anger died and she eyed him. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. ” “Tolstoy is so good about this,” said Miss Miniver, regardless of her friend’s attitude. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. “It is unimportant,” she said.
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