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. "I shall state my suspicions to the governor. The man was my husband. His bravado waxed and he asked her to what would be her first date in nearly twenty years. “Mr. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her.
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