\" 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. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger. You are my prisoner, murderer.
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