He tired of his popcorn and placed it under his seat. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. It was his turn to express astonishment. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. And lunged once more. No matter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness.
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