272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. The mode of destruction makes no difference. “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. ” John looked at her sympathetically.
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