I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. \" 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. Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. I do not believe that you will marry David Courtlaw. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along.
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