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“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. What you say is probably all true and necessary.
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