. The three of them laughed joyously. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. 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. ” She sniffled. Sir John once more looked around him. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing.
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