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. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. “If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. "And the rings?" "Ja.
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