Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. Sister’s got married to that bounder Ferringhall. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation.
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