"I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise. 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. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself.
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