A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. Gianfrancesco never suspected that I had my own reasons for wanting you for my wife. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. . . . She did not want to feel such negative emotion towards any member of her foster family. 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.
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