How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral. ’ ‘You’re going to break into the house? You’re mad. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. 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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