He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. ‘Me, I have a name. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. If I am to have no other opportunity I will speak before them. linked image back linked image back MADEMOISELLE AT ARMS Elizabeth Bailey © 2011 by Elizabeth Bailey All rights reserved.
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