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She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. “I have scarcely left his side. 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. ’ ‘Forgive me, but if that is the case, I don’t quite see why you should run away. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him.
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