"Sir Rowland must be gone. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. " "That was my doing, dearest," urged the carpenter; "I was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely.
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