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Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. There is no poison that would affect her. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. "I believe I'll tear them up. ” Even in the glamour of Miss Brett’s assurance it seemed to Ann Veronica that this was, after all, no more than the gospel of Miss Miniver with a new set of resonances. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter.

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