Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. “That is very nice of you,” she said. "I've done with you.
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