” Chapter XII THE POSTER OF “ALCIDE” On Saturday mornings there was deposited on the plate of each guest at breakfast time, a long folded paper with Mrs. ’ Melusine’s instant annoyance must have shown in her face. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. 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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