“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. "You are," replied Kneebone. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. Michelle and Missy chatted vigorously in the front seat, oblivious to both the world and other cars on the road.
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