The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. \" 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. Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next.
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