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"Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. " "Man, in God's name, come with me and tell her this!" urged Spurlock. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. E. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. There were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers—a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. The young man looked at her. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked.
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