But also this must not go on. Suddenly he stopped short. Wood's. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. They fell into step again. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew.
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