"Now—begin. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. She had been careless. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. And Miss Miniver began to sway her. She interrupted. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. But you must tell her. I'll write out certain rules of conduct, and then you'll never be in doubt. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. She repeated phrases of Mrs.
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