272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. A time may come,—and that ere long,—when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile.
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