\" 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. “I mean to,” she replied. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. And so she came upon the word Love. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion.
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