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. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. At least for one moment, it was. Wood's house was broken into and plundered. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It shall be the bludgeon. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise.
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