Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. 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. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. "I began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune must have befallen him.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 23-09-2024 05:03:32
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