"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence. Hilary threw up his eyes. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. 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. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers.
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