272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He sat down. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn.
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