This time they would call it murder. Surely Capes was different. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Here, Caliban, attend to the door, and keep the wicket locked till I return. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers.
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