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’ He fitted the hat onto her head, and was aware as he did so of her eyes watching his face. In the circles into which he had been born, the passing on of land was of vital importance. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?” “I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. 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. You deal with her.
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