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. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. ‘But then again, possibly not. This person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. It was hard to gain weight when you hated to eat. " "A mother's blessing on you," replied Mrs.
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