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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. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. The latter request, though treated with supreme contempt by Mr. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered.
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