Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress. " "No; she accepts it," rejoined Jonathan, triumphantly. Primarily your job will be to balance the stores against the influx of coconut and keep an eye on these boys. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. dear.
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