A man is so apt to—to take women a little too lightly. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Very well. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him.
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