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 shot a sudden glance at him. ‘Hates doing the pretty. Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. The events that had initially followed in the wake of her triumph over Emile Gosse had quite confused and dazed her. ‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. "' Instead of regarding him, Jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and measured the distance.
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