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. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink.
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