“Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments.
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