“I’ve tried to make words tell it. "Then it is not too late to save him. Nor can we. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. She answered slowly. ’ I received strange looks from them. 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. There will be no more children in this house, not ever! And if anyone ever tries bringing children into our house again, I shall kill the lot of them.
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