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. This person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. Ann Veronica was by this time quite shocked at her own thoughts, and yet they would go on with their freaks. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. " "Will you be taking a pole-chair?" "If that's the racket. “Thanks, so do you. " "Your hesitation is not in your favour," observed Trenchard, sternly. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. We will get on with the agreement and you shall have in it whatever rubbish you like. ” “No doubt.
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