"I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. All this torrent of misleading, spurious stuff that pours from the press. The chance had gone. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. ‘Ah, the tragedy. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position. I never could. "And on my part, I shall not lift a hand to defend myself.
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