Miss Sloane's Daughter Was Killed

Bern webster, killed my daughter, she said evenly, hands moveless in her lap. She talked like a person bent on making every statement perfectly clear and understandable. Her thin mobile lips curled upward at the ends and looked a little thicker, giving an exaggerated impression of wetness. Have you told all this to the sheriff, mister crown? He inquired, yes, but he seemed to attach no importance to it. At last, it was contempt, putting the sheriff beyond the pale of further consideration.

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