272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "Perhaps. “Yeah, everybody knows him Mom. “I do not blame him. Remember ——” Annabel clutched her sister’s arm. Nice, of course. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. Above her head was an aura of white fire.
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