Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. I speak no harm of her. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. “She seems an unusually clever girl,” said Ramage. Laughed at me, then. ‘Until today. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. At this moment, a coach passed them, and was instantly hailed by Thames. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever.
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