“And now let us leave the men alone and talk about ourselves. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. 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 odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. . “Not a bit of it. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. Very intelligent, by the looks of the books she was carrying. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. ” “Perhaps,” he said, “you had better let me have your key, and I will go up and explore.
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