“Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. ’ For a moment Melusine stared at him as she took in the full horror of his scheme. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. She's fine.
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