\" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. Spurling in alarm. ‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once. They steal over to Copeley's at night and dispose of the pearl for cash. "Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation.
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