272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. " "Not now—not now!" she returned, with a shudder. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. “Come this way,” he said. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read.
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