“It was poison—why not?” she answered. “I thought you weren’t keeping up to the mark. 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. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. Her mind developed into savage wrath at the present conditions of a woman’s life. A deadlock. Take me to the Stone Room. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe.
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