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Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. 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. ‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. "What in the world is it?" he asked.

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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 11-07-2024 07:35:58

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