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. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. And I was altogether disgusted when he kissed me. I am going to make a fresh start. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. The militia were in already. His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others.
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