Apparently he did not see his recent companions. 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. It dealt with fine aspects of Mr. You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning. Mr. Take care of the old clothesman, and leave the rest to me.
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