He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. "This your regular business?" "For the present. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. None this end. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not.
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