This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. ‘Come, cry a truce. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. I want to tell every one. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. I have no intention of arresting you. It must be the dawn creeping in. The investigators should have thought to check inside the garbage can. She would buy a Greyhound ticket to New Orleans, make a kill or two, then travel into Texas and seduce some wandering man into taking her to Mexico, feast upon him once they got there.
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