She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy. In truth, Sheila never saw Lucy murder anyone at all, she only saw the blood. That’s how it takes me. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs.
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