She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause.
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