272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “You won’t give me away, Anna. Good night!" "Well, if you won't be persuaded, and must have a boat, Owen," observed the landlord, "there's a waterman asleep on that bench will help you to as tidy a craft as any on the Thames. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Borne in the arms of a couple of assistants, and preceded by Mrs. 136 They came out and said it: Lucy was needed at home to cook and clean. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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