And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. She looked in the rear-view mirror. "Then, of course, you must know. “I think they do. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever.
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