The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. “Just do it. If they do, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they pay for their pastime, and that's sufficient. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “Damn! Things are getting plainer. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation web page at http://www.
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