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When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. Melusine grasped the hilt of the sword she had been carefully holding, and came out into the light. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. My friends consider it wonderfully faithful. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him. “This isn’t furtive,” said Ann Veronica. “Well?” she said. 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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