272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. " "I'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. "Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. " "Will you do it?" persisted Blueskin. You foolish girl!” Ann Veronica took that in silence. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. .
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