" "Let me go," implored Mrs. Instead, her husband was probably wise. 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 first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. “Didn’t you just get over an ear infection not two weeks ago? You’re asking for another one.
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