She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. ” “But do you really think men’s minds are altered by the food they eat?” “I know it,” said Miss Miniver. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now.
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