It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in here. federal laws and your state's laws. 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. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it.
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