\" 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. “Hello, Vee!” he said. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!” “Ah!” she cried in triumph. “About two years ago. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things.
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