Did you not hear the shot?’ ‘I ain’t saying as I didn’t hear no shot,’ Trodger said carefully, peering at her out of eyes narrowed with interest, ‘but what I do say is, it’s mighty peculiar you saying as how there’s a Frenchman in the case, when it’s as plain as the nose on your face that you’re a Frenchwoman yourself. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. Twenty-one, twenty-two. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. I think over all sorts of things.
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