She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. My wife—killed me. I’ll come and see you again later on. “I don’t care what any one thinks,” said Ann Veronica. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. I done just what you asked.
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