The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. 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. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. Ann Veronica said nothing. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned.
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