She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. She licked his neck, which put him over the top. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time.
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