Earles said, rubbing his hands together, “by post. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. John looked at his feet bashfully. He seemed to have expected them.
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