Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. 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. He filled her glass with champagne. I have always hated it. " He rose for fear she might touch him again. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written.
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