“Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. “But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. \" 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. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. Instead of which, more than half an hour has elapsed.
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