Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. You will have to tell me. Then he understood. 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 been a dear. Mr. ” “You have to kill people. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me.
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