She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. " "You're agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan," returned Wood, in a soothing voice. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring.
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