272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed.
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