“Absolutely platonically,” she said. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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