“You seem to forget that my sister is—married. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. "I knew he would," replied the Amazon. 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. "Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time. The ledge, along which he crawled, was about a foot wide.
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