He was mad. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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