She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. “Women know these things by instinct,” she answered.
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