It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Here he was hotly pursued. “It is no good playing a game. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth.
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