"How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. 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. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. It was you who were so much amazed that I did not try—the music hall stage here.
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