\" 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. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. You are marvelous!” Carolyn Diedermayer exclaimed. Sheppard put out her arms mechanically. " "No; it is only—what shall I say?—troubled.
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