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. And I’m afraid. Part 2 She found the younger generation of the Widgetts engaged in languid reminiscences, and all, as they expressed it, a “bit decayed. . " "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror.
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