There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. . 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out.
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