\" 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. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will.
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