272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters.
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