Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. Her parents have more money than God. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. “I shall send for a policeman,” Anna said, “directly my maid answers the bell— unless you choose to go before. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that.
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