Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. The investigators should have thought to check inside the garbage can. His perseverance was amply rewarded. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. He had been back for two weeks during some pleasant weather in July. I killed him, Nigel. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. 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.
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