“Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. He built her the most beautiful castle 242 in the world in the desert, carving fountains where real water ran and gardens in a place where no plant had ever bloomed. 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. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. And, whatever you may think, I assure you, Jack's a downright goodnatured fellow. Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities.
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