In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. Section 3. 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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