The Night-Cellar XVIII. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. He seemed to be. Three more people came to meet them at the door. “Didn’t you just get over an ear infection not two weeks ago? You’re asking for another one. 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 poor boy, wanting his empty coat! The incident, however, caused her to review the recent events.
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