" "Well, so long as he gets on his feet in the end. ” “Then I was never married to him at all?” Annabel said. Stanley. She had never heard anything so unholy. 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. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round.
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