The prosecutor snapped the blade to with an enigmatic smile. “Thank you. That will be all.”
“Miss Kathleen Page!”
Before the ring of that high imperious summons had died in the air, she was there—a demure and dainty wraith, all in gray from the close feathered hat to the little buckled shoes. A pale oval face that might have belonged to the youngest and smallest of Botticelli’s Madonnas; cloudy eyes to match her frock, extravagantly fringed with heavy lashes; a forlorn, coaxing little mouth; sleek coils of dark hair. A murmur of interest rose, swelled, and died under Judge Carver’s eagle eye.
“Miss Page, what is your present occupation?”
“I am a librarian at a branch public library in New York.”
“Is that your regular occupation?”
“It has been for the past six months.”
“Was it previous to that time?”
“Do you mean immediately previous?”
“At any time previous.”