Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. 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. Hearing the distant shouts, these fellows rushed down to the entrance of the court, and arrived there just as Jack passed it. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. “And let’s have a look at you, Vee!” said Mr.
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