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. 168 < 20 > HISTORY OF AN ABDUCTION She had not seen him for hundreds of years. We went to the Embassy. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. Little woman, you have been brave enough before.
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