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So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. Who invented them? Nobody knows. “I’m really very sorry. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died. “I mean to,” she replied. 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. THAMES DARRELL.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 19:36:39