More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. . 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. ‘Do not be alarmed, Jacques. I figured it would hurt your feelings if you knew I still talked to him, so I kept my mouth shut.
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