It is not at all comme il faut. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. "The lash cuts to the bone. Can I give him any message for you?” “Thank you,” Anna answered. 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.
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