” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. A married man!—the kind I've never been able to lure down there! But keep your temper in check. And I have no more the pistol. ” “But how can I help it? How can I keep silence?” “Please!” she insisted. ‘Damnation! Too late. ” Anna looked at her steadily. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. Kicked out of there for something shady. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. Miss Miniver learned of her flight and got her address from the Widgetts. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. D'ye hear. Ed. . .
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