A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. . E. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box.
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