She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. “I go to private school right now. ‘I don’t think he deserved that, Melusine. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. 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. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon.
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