If you killed him, I'm just telling myself there was a mighty good reason for it.

But I don't believe it was you who killed him.

You couldn't do it--with those hands!" He reached out suddenly and seized them, slipping his grip to her wrists, so that her hands lay upward in his own, hands that were small, slim-fingered, soft-palmed, beautiful.
"They couldn't!" he cried, almost fiercely.

"I swear to God they couldn't!" Her eyes and face flamed at his words.

"You believe that, Jeems ?" "Yes, just as you believe that I did not kill John Barkley.