She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. Miss Miniver looked out on the world through large emotional blue eyes that were further magnified by the glasses she wore, and her nose was pinched and pink, and her mouth was whimsically petulant. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. ” “I like the mystical way,” she said. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. .
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