The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. 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. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion.
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