She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. 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. She wrote it down. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. She thought of Capes. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story.
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