"Dare to disobey," continued Jonathan: "neglect my orders, and I will hang you. 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. She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. He had died before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s.
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