These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming
(if unavoidable) interview. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Heaven alone knows why. 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. Her gratitude swelled within her. ”
152
< 19 >
THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER
The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that
relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the
school. ‘You won’t get a
thing out of her. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I
can sell. “What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. Wood was unable to
discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and
was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be
the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty
substance, had fallen upon the floor. Don't forget to cut out all effervescent
water. "I beg pardon," he said. I want a walk. This was irregular. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew
dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite.
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