The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. . She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart.
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