“Everything will follow,” she said. . ” “We will,” said Miss Miniver, refusing to be suppressed, “if some of us have to be killed to get it. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. . . Sorry. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake.
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