He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. “He tried it. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes.
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