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"It iss goot. Vor der boor man it iss it iss salfation. Mit fife huntret tollars und hiss two hants he can himself a home make und a lifing be sure off." Beside Hazel Lauer's wife absently caressed the blond head of her four-year-old daughter. "No, I don't think I'll ever get lonesome," she said. "I'm too glad to be here. And I've got lots of work and my babies.

Law is ze science by vich a man who has money do as he tam please and snap his finger so! and shrug his shoulder so! and say, 'You not like it? Vat I care, Monsieur? and by vich ze poor man, vedder he guilty or not, haf no single chance, not von, to escape. I haf not efen ze two huntret tollaire zat gif me my liberty till ze trial come."

"Ven I efer t'ink my liperty cost me two huntret tollaire and I haf not got him. Zis blow kill all zat is to me of my self-respect! Je suis hors de moi-même!" "Why, you orter be able to raise dat much tin," said the guard. Tulitz jumped from his bed to the floor with a cry such as a wild beast might have given as it sprang from peril into safety.

"Fi' t'ousan' tollaire!" he exclaimed, as the Justice fixed his bail, blending both his French and his German accent with strict impartiality, "V'y you not make him den, dwenty, a huntret t'ousandt!" A penniless prisoner in the Tombs is not an object of much consideration, as Tulitz discovered to his profound disgust.