‘After all the threats you’ve made, that is hardly fair. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. He would never recognize me now. I expect you had been snubbing him terribly. And the age gets higher. 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.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 15:05:34