Take them, and may they prove as serviceable to you as I desire. I wished to control the weather, to possess infinite wealth, and to understand the substances of the earth. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. 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 have friends, acquaintances, social standing, brothers and sisters, every advantage! Instead of which, you want to go to some mixed classes or other and cut up rabbits and dance about at nights in wild costumes with casual art student friends and God knows who. Ruth shivered; she was cold. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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