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. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. There are only a few jobs over here for a man of your type; and even these are more or less hopeless if you haven't trained mechanical ability. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic.
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