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. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. ’ ‘Please forgive, milor’, but my wife, and even I myself, have yet very much trouble with English. It was hard to meet that gaze. Once more he was the searcher. Primarily it was her own problem, and in particular the answer she had to give to Mr. " "How so?" inquired Winifred. Wood, popping her head through the window. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform.
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