Nor had Jack been idle all this time. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. “I’d never have a day of peace again, John. ” Lucy snickered. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. 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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