You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. They poisoned the system with lead and exploded half the time on the other side. 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. She was chaffing him about being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should be presented to me as the millionaire.
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