” He shook his head. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. 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.
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