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. . Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. Well, that’s the situation. " So saying, he hurried up stairs, opened the back door, and was quickly in the yard. "Mother, I come to you. He just wants to get laid.
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