272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. This—this shatters a world!” She tried to feel sorry, but her sense of his immense egotism was strong and clear. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. But God did not put you next door.
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