If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening.
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