But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. He pretended to be unaware of the mishap. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. But it was not adieu, so she promised her old nurse. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. 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. “I remember hearing something about it.
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