She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. She's not for pleasure, but for work. I am bothered. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin.
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