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 openly—you must go to the judge. I don't know how it's done.&quot;

&quot;To the judge? When they're both dead? When everything is at an end? What good could that do?&quot; he groaned.

&quot;Everything is not at an end for you—everything is just beginning. You must clear yourself of this guilt; and there is only one way—to confess it. And you must give back the money.&quot;

This seemed to strike him as conclusive proof of her irrelevance. &quot;I wish I had never heard of the money! But to whom would you have me give it back? I tell you she was a waif out of the gutter. I don't believe any one knew her real name—I don't believe she had one.&quot;

&quot;She must have had a mother and father.&quot;

&quot;Am I to devote my life to hunting for them through the slums of California? And how shall I know when I have found them?