272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. You must—you shall be mine.
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