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There was no rush. “I killed him. ‘They weren’t no soldiers. ” A man who had been sitting with his hat tilted over his eyes at an adjacent table had risen to his feet and stood suddenly before them. Take care of yourselves, gentlemen, and your governor will take care of you. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Well, you shall know. 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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