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272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. In the morning and at night he is dressed as he would dress in the big hotels. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. A brief calm succeeded. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us.
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