She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade.
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