” He threw the stone protecting the crypt to one side. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. 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. “So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. “Let’s go in here.
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