272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. "And now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. “Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. "Not my king's," returned Wood. "Ah! I see. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger.
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