" "'The avenger of blood himself shall slay the murderer'," said Wood, who was culling for himself certain texts from the scriptures. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Hurry to me, I entreat you. She won’t be a problem from now on. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. She moved a little nearer to him. He had not had time to aim the pistol.
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