” “Your husband,” he answered bluntly. ’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room. ‘Ah, the tragedy. "I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't polished yet. 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.
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