272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. No matter. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs. ’ ‘I am whatever you like,’ he agreed pleasantly, ‘but nothing is going to stop me from searching for this dagger. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. ’ That wonderful poster—is of you. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses.
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