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Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. “Um, he took me to the Big Apple. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. 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.
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