I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. 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. ’ ‘To you,’ she said angrily. ’ Madame gave one of those breathy laughs. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. ” “And you?” asked David Courtlaw. "Because I knew what you wanted me for!" answered Thames firmly. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure.
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