But, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined Jonathan's offer of assistance. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. But I liked to say it. 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. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth.
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