” “For my infertility. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. "Read that. 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. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. He had. ” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick.
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