’ Melusine hesitated. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. “I detest amateurs. ‘I do not wish to hear any more reasons so foolish, so do not trouble to think of them. 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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