‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. ‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. 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. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin. They're gone into the next room.
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