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. "I'll pledge you in that toast with all my heart. Good night!" She pressed his hand and went out. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. " "What say you, Sir?" said the Amazon, with an engaging leer at the stranger. ” “Rules are for every day,” said Ann Veronica.
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