“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved.
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