“His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. Wild on his guard against an assassin. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. 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. ” Sir John frowned. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time.
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