In one grave, mind. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. Spurlock knew exactly what he was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she would act. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. From there I plan to travel until I reach Columbia—but any lawless country will do.
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