272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged the fast motorboat he had previously bespoken against the need, and started for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking The Tigress. That dress is thirty years old, if a day. “This is not every day.
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