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. Would a hundred dollars interest you?" "Very much, if I can earn it without offending my conscience. ‘Do not smile at me and try to make me not angry any more,’ Melusine warned, ‘for I am very angry indeed with you. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly.
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