“I was watching you at Morningside Park, dear,” said Miss Miniver. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. “So, just how many foster homes were you in before the coming to live here?” “You don’t want to hear about all of that, Michelle.
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