“I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. I can keep you. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. So the world is choked with waste and waiting daughters. ‘Hilary was right.
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