The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. A deadlock. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly.
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