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Miss Miniver learned of her flight and got her address from the Widgetts. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. Wood was once a favourite of yours. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. It must be the dawn creeping in. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. So Mrs.
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