Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. 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. Anna was married. \" Lucy replied meekly. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before. \"Shouldn't you be in bed? You go into work at 5:30, I thought.
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