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“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice.
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