The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had the least conception of what the coffee bean was for. “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. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes.
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