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. White Sears special-order orthopedic shoes, polyester pants, and cotton print blouses were her usual weekend attire. He unlocked himself from her embrace. ’ The familiar hollow opened up inside Melusine’s chest, and she could not prevent the husky note that entered her voice. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. "I'm afraid I must decline to tell you. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly.
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