I’ve no name for it yet. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke.
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