The stranger turned his head at the sound. "My old coco is disintegrating. ‘Dear me. “Ann Veronica is looking very well, don’t you think?” he said, a little awkwardly. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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