” “YOU ASKED YOUR FATHER FOR A REASON!” said Miss Miniver, with great intensity. She shot a sudden glance at him. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind.
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