. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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