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He let go of the girl’s arm. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. “The walk has given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till five o’clock. ’ Joan sniffed. "My name is Ruth Enschede. . ‘But I find you excessively rude, Gérard. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. So, then, when McClintock offered the coveted haven, Spurlock became afire to dramatize the idea.
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