272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. ***** Coconuts grew perpetually. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. C below. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot.
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