272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. ‘It is precisely that point over which Melusine and I fell out. I won't keep you long. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'.
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