\" 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 got myself locked up to cool off. Armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success. They will guess that I am English. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer.
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