I'm about to leave this country for ever. Our quarrel's quite over. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. Miss Miniver looked out on the world through large emotional blue eyes that were further magnified by the glasses she wore, and her nose was pinched and pink, and her mouth was whimsically petulant. “I am not in need of any.
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