She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. She crooked her finger.
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