‘All right, Trodger. 5. What has she to with Constance Trenchard?" "Mrs. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. 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. In some instances she tantalizes the victim for years and mocks him in the end.
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