She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. My dress, my person will be minutely described. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. You say I know nothing. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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