A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “You need a reason. ” She controlled a sob. Better even than these. “Further than that, I am amazed that you should dare to allude to those few moments, to that single moment of folly. His eyes were bright with the hunt. 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. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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