Wood. 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. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. " "My coat, please. I am a single man, and——” “Thank you,” she interrupted.
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