"Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. \" 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. Caution forced her to speak calmly. ‘Did it indeed?’ ‘I should think he’s guessed, don’t you?’ ‘Without any doubt at all. ” He looked at Lucy.
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