“We have to be— modern. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. The area was sparsely populated. She fled. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark.
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