He never finished his sentence. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. Then she examined with curiosity some knick-knacks upon a small round table by her side. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. Her English was halting. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. They order me to get my man, and I get him. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time.
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