That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. Wood; but they never come now. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. Maggot.
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