\" 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. It was. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. \"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things.
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