" Before Austin could recover himself, Jack and Mrs. 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. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs.
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