Jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his appearance, ran off to a neighbouring house. He was there concealed, waiting her return. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. And I get myself dirty. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days. The man himself was not a pleasant object. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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