272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. ’ Her eyes narrowed. ” She was silent. “I meant it.
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