Carson. Then what, in the name of goodness, made him shoot Mr.
Harry? After you had given up going with him, I mean? Was he
afraid you'd be on again?"
"How dare you say he shot Mr. Harry?" asked Mary, firing up from the
state of languid indifference into which she had sunk while Sally
had been settling about her dress. "But it's no matter what you
think as did not know him. What grieves me is, that people should
go on thinking him guilty as did know him," she said, sinking back
into her former depressed tone and manner.
"And don't you think he did it?" asked Sally.
Mary paused; she was going on too fast with one so curious and so
unscrupulous. Besides, she remembered how even she herself had, at
first, believed him guilty; and she felt it was not for her to cast
stones at those who, on similar evidence, inclined to the same
belief. None had given him much benefit of a doubt. None had faith
in his innocence. None but his mother; and the heart loved more
than the head reasoned, and her yearning affection had never for an
instant entertained the idea that her Jem was a murderer.
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