He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. 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. "Now, tell me why they brought you here?" "I came to see you, dear mother!" answered Jack. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper.
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