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. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. He then said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms.
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