” Anna stopped in front of her. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. 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. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once.
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