Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. Wood, sharply.
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