She rapped again, louder. “Don’t think that I have been playing the spy upon you,” he continued. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack.
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