272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. In the upper hall he paused to listen. " "I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. John picked it up and put it in her hands. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. . She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs. He sat down. I meant to give him a drubbing. Her husband was prouder of her every day. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation.
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