\" 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. " "She has paid dearly for it," muttered Blueskin. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back. It might be dangerous to thwart him. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast.
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