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 didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. Very few survived her trials. Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. ”) They had shown themselves grossly ignorant of facts.
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