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 owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. uh. Her husband quickly joined the fray, making her giggle and laugh. ‘For my money, you’ll not get much out of old Jarvis either. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. Wood, "and take your son with you. One of the coolies held the paper lantern.
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