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’ Kimble’s eyes widened. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. He has escaped. The car ride to the new movie theater, a multiplex, was brief and harrowing. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination.

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