Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, while overhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. 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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