But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. She stared at his pleading face. It was horrible, but she must do it. He had not had time to aim the pistol. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. You see—I didn’t understand. \" 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.
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