She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. It'll be your turn to save mine next. 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. He pressed his lips to her with a much greater force than she had anticipated.
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