She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. An uncomfortable silence followed. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. ” “Tolstoy is so good about this,” said Miss Miniver, regardless of her friend’s attitude. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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