Stephen Jannan, facing the Mayor, made a concise statement in a cold,
deliberate voice. "I now propose to show your honour," he finished,
"that, between the hours in which Daniel Culser is said to have been
shot to death, my client was peacefully in the company of Miss Brundon,
strolling in an opposite quarter of the city."
"Hoffernan," the Mayor pronounced, waving toward the seated woman. The
clerk advanced with a Bible; and, rising, Susan followed the words of
the oath in a low, clear voice. To Jasper Penny the occasion seemed
intolerably prolonged, filled with needless detail. Never had Susan
Brundon appeared more utterly desirable, never had his need to protect,
shield, her been stronger. He--protect her, he added bitterly; rather he
had betrayed her, dragged her immaculate sweetness down into the foul
atmosphere of a criminal hearing. His attention, fastening on the
trivialities of the interior, removed him in a species of self-hypnotism
from the actualities of the scene. He heard, as if from a distance, the
questioning of the Mayor, "At what time, exactly, did you say? How did
you know that?" Susan said, "I saw the clock at the back of the hall. I
noticed it because I wondered if the younger children had retired.
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