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. And stony broke. My death, probably. ‘You! Tell this fool who is the keeper here to come to me at once. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden.
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