"You speak English better than I do," said O'Higgins, as the coolies jogged across the bridge toward the gate. 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. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. from many ships.
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