272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. " "Since you require it, I must obey," replied Kneebone; "but prepare yourself for a terrible shock.
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