Spurling and Marvel. 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. . Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. To receive him here afterwards would be most repugnant to me. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him.
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