" "What shall I do?" cried Mrs. His first wife. 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. ‘Come, mademoiselle. ” “Mr. . "Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham. ’ Gerald frowned. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. Heaven alone knows why.
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