Gerald grinned. But you are Annabel. You're in luck to-night, widow. " Upon which, he set off in the direction of the entry. "No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business. 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.
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