\" 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. ” He stopped and said earnestly: “It is the chief thing in life, and everything else goes down before it. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness.
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