272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. Newby Chief Executive and Director gbnewby@pglaf. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me.
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