Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. “I don’t know. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. Now I’ll tell you what I propose.
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