272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. It creaked slightly. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. ” “And you?” asked David Courtlaw. . Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. . ‘Kill him? Oh. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. He said nothing. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp.
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