\" 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. "I alone am to blame. I bent over him. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. " "Ah! indeed! what's he doing here?" inquired Jack. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder.
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