And—the idea of committees, of hustings, of agenda-papers!” “I don’t see why the responsibility of beauty should all be shifted on to the women,” said Ann Veronica, suddenly remembering a part of Miss Miniver’s discourse. “Steady on!” he cried. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. " "Help me through at all hazards, Poll," cried Jack, straining towards the opening. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair.
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