272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. My birthday was on May first.
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