Sebastian looked up and stood. You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. “I do mean that,” she declared. “Because I hate you!” She spat. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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