. She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer. "Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. “I do. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction.
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