” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. “I will believe you. “Great. Was she so bad a prospect? ‘No good, Melusine,’ said a new voice from the doorway. 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.
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