272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. " "It matters not who I am," replied Jonathan, taking the money. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her. ” “You gave it him well.
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