Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. 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. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. ” “I thought I explained—” “Come home!” Ann Veronica shrugged her shoulders. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them.
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