But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think your presence here just now would be a great misfortune. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. There isn’t. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. Out of the beaten track, far from the trails of men! He relaxed. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me.
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