One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. Surely it was a dream. He only laughed his defiance. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. “What was that?” she asked sharply.
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