"The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. . 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. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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