Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted. 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. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone.
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