"What weight are these irons?" asked Jonathan, coolly addressing one of the partners. 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. F. Why do you not go away?’ ‘Yes, do go away,’ begged Gerald.
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