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. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath.
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