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. \" he replied, though it was obvious that he was lying. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. He drove it into her missionary style, and though he was worried about hurting her, he could not stop himself from thrusting into her deeply. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. "No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went.
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