Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. A remittance man. Sixteen thousand! Mark me, young man, you'll pay it back through the nose, every dollar of it!" "I owe you nothing. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them.
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