Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. "The Dutchman was right, after all. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Which is also puzzling. Ann Veronica blushed. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature.
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