“Mostly fur, and long gray stockings and a little round cap of gray fur.”
“Squirrel fur?”
“Yes, I guess so. Gray, anyway. A pert little thing she was, and yet pretty too, in a sort of way.”
“What sort of way?”
“Oh, fly, flippant—flirtatious.”
“I don’t know—she just gave me that impression.”
“Would you know her if you saw her again?”
“I’m not sure—those little trots all look alike. But I’d know the clothes.”
“Don’t squirrel furs all look alike?”
“Perhaps—yet I think I’d know her. You don’t think she killed Mr Gleason, do you?”