But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. “We have to be— modern. “Then—then we can talk things out. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year.
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