’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. This time he couldn't get far. He let go of the girl’s arm. Meantime, a change had taken place in the weather. 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. ‘I did not send you a card because in the normal way of things you rarely attend such affairs. I proved myself early as an athlete, skills I retained long after my return home.
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