A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. They didn’t talk about it much, but Mike had been through some eerily similar foster homes in Florida, the where he was born. 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. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ and something about ‘Bateson & Co.
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