" "What shall I do?" cried Mrs. She had never said anything so horrible to anyone in her life. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. 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. The knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose.
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