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 crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. " "I have already hazarded my life in this attempt to save you," returned Jonathan boldly, and with apparent frankness; "this ought to be sufficient answer to your doubts. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. "I heard his voice; but I saw them on the stairs, and durst not approach him, for fear of giving the alarm. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. But be patient, I am your fast friend.
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