” They returned to the Beck house and he walked her to the front door. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss.
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