The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. 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. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live.
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