He knocked at the door. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. ‘God loves you, even if your father didn’t. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly.
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