Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them.
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