” “I thought so,” Courtlaw said. After all, why need one look down. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. A sacrifice.
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