“It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’ ‘I had no such intention. " "Don't listen to him, father," cried Thames, unconscious of what was passing; "there are plenty of people outside. 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 flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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