'—'They can't,' says I. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. He looked at her with a certain curiosity. “There are policemen—and buses. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. You’re neither of you any longer under arrest.
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