But she did not speak. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving. Knap. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles.
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