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. ) You are all the slender goddesses. ‘That is not your affair. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. She pulled away from him, placing her fingers on his lips for a moment. “See you. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance.
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