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272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. They will guess that I am English. . ’ ‘Alone, miss?’ ‘Certainly alone. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Love and companionship. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. “That’s a weird name. "Why shouldn't a Chinaman be honest? Ah, yes; I know.
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