” Ennison nodded. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. " "And with some justice," replied Thornhill, drily. You have thought it worth while to take some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister’s identity. 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. She has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. ‘Never fear, my love.
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