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" "You hear that," whispered Jack. . ” She paused. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. "I am glad you think that," she replied. 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 glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. She floundered deep.
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