They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. \" 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. ‘Housebreaking, Hilary? I take the matter of housebreaking very seriously, I’ll have you know. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. .
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