White Sears special-order orthopedic shoes, polyester pants, and cotton print blouses were her usual weekend attire. I’ll have to think of something else. His lips were tight drawn. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. "I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred, angrily. 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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