We went our ways. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. Sanguine they were not. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. At least for one moment, it was.
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