Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. ” Her father declared there had been no difficulty. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. ‘It needs not that you tell me. Wow.
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