His condition is not unfavourable, but there may be a relapse at any moment. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. His bravado waxed and he asked her to what would be her first date in nearly twenty years. 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. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. “I didn’t blow up the house.
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