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. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. " "It came from Lady Trafford's jewel-box. The first Step towards the Ladder. ‘No, no, I am convinced your very first theory was right. Would you like me to take one for you?\" \"Nah. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. SHOOH!” “That’s no reason,” said Ann Veronica, speaking through her handkerchief and stopping abruptly. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. What an adventure! Of course, you'll bark your shins here and there and hit your funnybone; but the newness of everything will be something of a compensation. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper.
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