. ” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. White. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Her pa was only the smithy. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. “To-night we are as we have always been. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. . .
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