No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. He could not make good his hold. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. Absolutely. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her.
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