272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Walking to the station with him. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. E. Wood, delighted at the idea.
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