The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. 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. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east. “I’ll tell them how much you enjoyed dinner, it would give me great pleasure to tell them that.
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