Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. ” “Tolstoy is so good about this,” said Miss Miniver, regardless of her friend’s attitude. ‘You could have fetched me home. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. “Dare!” she said.
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