She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. And listen, John. Here was a thundering blow. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. ” She saw him flinch, but he gave no sign of it in his tone. He read the Times with an unusually passionate intentness, and then declared suddenly for the earlier of the two trains he used. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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