\" 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. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. "I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. Whoever chose to incur the risk of so doing might enter the Mint at any hour; but no one was suffered to depart without giving a satisfactory account of himself, or producing a pass from the Master. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. Perhaps I deceived you about it.
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