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" This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears. ” “It came,” he said. "Mr. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. \" 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. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. And here he was first visited by that genius which, in his subsequent career, prompted him to so many bold and successful attempts. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself.
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