You shall have a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. She picked up the hand cannon. 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. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. . His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. She did not have to investigate that his door was locked. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms.
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