"Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. " "I'd rather lie here for ever, than be indebted to you for my freedom," returned Thames. She would have been amazed if John was even aware of any one of the incidents. 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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