After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. It wasn’t. Only the next of kin. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. . She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjE3Mi4xODAgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDAyOjU2OjA4IC0gODk0OTc2OTkw
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