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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. “Lift up one corner of the curtain for me. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. These persons were Mr. “Well,” she said.
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