“He just wants to get laid, you know. She felt herself shaking again. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. First-off, he had decided not to tell her what he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope. 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. ” “You will shake hands with me, please,” she begged.
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