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. “Get me some brandy and my bag. ” She suddenly caught hold of his shoulders and drew him down towards her. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. 'Received from Sir Rowland Trenchard, 15,000 £. Relief flooded her. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there.
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