“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. ‘That is imbecile. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. And nothing to tell her where to begin. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy.
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