It was not your fault you failed. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time.
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