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. " "No; I'm quite sure she said they're for you," replied Winifred; "but she does want to see father. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him.
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