The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her.
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