“I do mean that,” she declared. 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. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. " "Respecting Thames Darrell?" observed Jack. " He shook his head. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. ” He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. She had to have him, her body was going crazy for the want of sex.
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