272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. White assured her. " "Is she alive?" repeated the widow. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. "I wonder how she picked up Kanaka? On her island they don't talk Kanaka lingo.
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