" "Worth anything?" "I don't know. No, don’t interrupt me. Moreoever, it had cost her a whipping and several days’ imprisonment in her cell on bread and water. 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. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand.
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