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” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. \" 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. "There's nothing in his clothes. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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