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Michelle looked at her pathetically. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. "Where's Thames?" he hastily inquired.
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