org Section 4. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. 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. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. It was plain that a man of his age could only be interested for one reason alone, yet she felt compelled to at know him a little before the main event. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. \" \"Nah, he's probably a cool guy, seems laid back enough. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I.
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