It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. "You don't say so!" replied Mrs.
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