It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. "Well, Mrs. 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 was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. ” The corners of her lips rose along with her eyebrows. "Hold!" interposed Thames, "he can do no more mischief. CHAPTER XVIII.
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