“You!” said Ann Veronica. 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. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. “But, you see, appearances are very much against me. “We will see that he doesn’t follow you. It is the same with animals. This done, Edgeworth Bess, who watched her opportunity, slipped out of the Lodge. ” Sir John turned towards the door. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely.
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