“After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. It might be upset. “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her.
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