“Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Nothing is wrong that you do. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him.
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