It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. Sir John once more looked around him. That is what my mother used to call me. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage.
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