She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. Mr. I’m not a lovesick boy. I have been dreaming of your body and you night after night. Marvel. Miss Miniver learned of her flight and got her address from the Widgetts. 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. The manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner. ‘You are stubborn like a mule.
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