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. I am so much obliged to you for your projected benevolence. Now she was to be married to him and it horrified her. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. ” “He cares so much for you. Luck. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard.
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