Mrs. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. It is not for myself I fear. I’ll have to make a visit out of town. “I was sick of the make-believe. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. "Off with him to Newgate!" cried Jonathan.
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