Shortly a man descended laboriously. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. Yet she never once thought of changing it. I stole away and walked to the railway station. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. We are amiable to one another, but we don’t mix. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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