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. ‘I doubt it. " "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. 2.
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