272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. His light brown hair was almost crew cut short. She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen.
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