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Now what I want you to feel is this. “He’s got good taste, you 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. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. I want very much to do something for women. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. Only three days. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified manner.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 18-09-2024 18:49:39
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