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. Still, the respite was sufficient for Spurlock to look about for some weapon. \"Are you aware that every girl in Princeton Hills would kill for a chance at him? I think it's simple. Its parents have perished.
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