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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. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. “You love some one else?” he repeated.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 14-07-2024 01:47:47
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