A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. How Jack Sheppard got out of the Condemned Hold 310 XI. 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. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling.
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