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. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. Amongst them was a revolver. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. " "If I disobey you, Sir Rowland," replied the thief-taker, "you'll thank me for it hereafter. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. . It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye.
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