272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She heard their feet and muffled voices. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. "Do not—do not!" "He must!" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. But look at these glorious daisies!” “But don’t you think political questions ARE important?” “I don’t think they are this afternoon, and I don’t think they are to you. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip.
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