For a moment she remained silent. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. “What do you mean?” she asked. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. “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.
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