\" 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. CHAPTER XX. She had behaved in every way perfectly. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. Pull yourself together now.
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