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I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. No matter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. ” “You asked your father for a reason!” Miss Miniver repeated. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily.

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