He then made off. 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. Come every day to see you was flourishing. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. The Well Hole. Heliers. You must keep out of the way till it's blown over.
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