Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. “You are talking like a boy. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. " "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth. “You have not feeling enough. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away.
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