It was the last thing she felt like drinking. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. ‘That’s wicked, that is. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. 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.
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