About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. She went out into the hall, where she met the Jedsons in their kimonos. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened.
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