. 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. This mitigated her remorse enormously. It amazed her that women in the United States could own property as easily as they did nowadays. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. "I will set about it instantly.
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