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. . “So is Mr. Kneebone's," remarked Austin, rising to fasten the door. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholy city, and become degenerates. ’ ‘What?’ ‘Neat little toy.
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