From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. Published by Elizabeth Bailey 2012 www. 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. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. “My Mom makes more money than my Dad, a lot more. She struggled against it quite uselessly. His statement was treated with derision.
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