But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. ” He nodded. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. 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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