Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame.
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