The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. “Close your eyes. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. .
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