“But, dear, think! He is your father. A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. ” Michelle said, tossing her glossy ponytail defiantly. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. Still, one never could tell. "Then, the story of his death was false.
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