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“So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. “Don’t ask me to tell you all that women can do, all that women can be. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. 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.
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