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Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. They can’t help seeing things in the way they do. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. Softly she rose to her feet. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer.
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