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He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. He was in a curious state of desperation. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. But now Ann Veronica knew what was the matter with her. E. Wild. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat.
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