They are not your children, they never were. A day will come when you will thank me. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. (“Good job. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “One can talk without undertones, so to speak,” said Ramage.
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