” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. He was damned if he knew what to do. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. She drove me. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table.
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