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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. The rascal will be at work before the morning. “You will not object,” he said, glancing towards her, “to accepting a deposit. H’m. The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. Do get your hat, and we will go to that corner café. ” “Our cases are scarcely similar,” Anna remarked. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. Stanley lost patience. Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage.
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