She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. ” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. But her request was unheeded. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. There was a young lad ahead of her. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. ‘I was not born to this.
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