‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. I somehow understood. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. You will find it somewhere in that book. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs.
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