You've never seen a typhoon, have you?" "No. On your own. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. I called myself Anna. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. 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. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out.
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