"
"I'll move heaven and earth to aid you!" cried Lillian.
"See here, I can _promise_ that you shall be held harmless, for I am the
prosecutor," Gladys struck suddenly into the conversation, pale but calm,
every fibre held to a rigorous self-control. "I am Mr. Briscoe's wife,
his widow. Now tell me, _where_ did you last see that child?"
"Wh--wh--wh--whut? You the widder?" Clenk's eyes were starting from their
sockets as he gazed up at her from his crouching posture on the bench,
his head sunk between his shoulders, his hand with the untasted glass in
it trembling violently.
"An' ye say that ye too will stand by me? Then lemme tell it--lemme tell
it now. 'T was--what d'ye call that place?--I ain't familiar with them
parts. _Wait_"--as Bayne exclaimed inarticulately--"lemme think a minit."
He dropped his head on one of his hands, his arm, supported by the back
of the bench, upholding it. His slouched hat had fallen off on the stone
pavement, and his shock of gray hair moved in the soft breeze.
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