272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least.
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