“Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. " "Ah, I see. "In my opinion, Sir Rowland," suggested Jonathan; "you'd better allow the court to remain open. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Gentlemen,—Mr. 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. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. But, what brought you here?" "Excuse me, Sir Rowland.
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