He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. Murder, I say, has been done! Another murder will be committed if you don't prevent it. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns.
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