She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘I know, Melusine. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. CHAPTER XXXII.
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