272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. " Mrs. “It was the night you left Paris. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then. I'd a good many things to say to you, besides—but you've put them all out of my head. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with carelessly dispersed feet. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed.
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