E. Do not be a fool, Jacques. I struck him across the mouth, and across the eyes. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. 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.
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