floral oil painting

floral oil painting
She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed to ask him. But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess where she was thinking of going.
And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head - no, no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never, never suspect her of telling him a lie.
Stop - had she told a lie? She did mean to go to the doctor after the inquest was finished - if there was time, that is. She wondered uneasily how long such an inquiry was likely to last. In this case, as so very little had been discovered, the proceedings would surely be very formal - formal and therefore short.
She herself had one quite definite object - that of hearing the evidence of those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving the spot where his victims lay weltering in their still flowing blood. She was filled with a painful, secret, and, yes, eager curiosity to hear how those who were so positive about the matter would describe the appearance of The Avenger. After all, a lot of people must have seen him, for, as Bunting had said only the day before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a ghost; he was a living man with some kind of hiding-place where he was known, and where he spent his time between his awful crimes.