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. But I do not love you. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. She knew now the supreme human energy which sent men to hell or carried them to their earthly heights.
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