But she had hailed a hansom-cab, and climbed in without looking back, and was quickly borne away.
* * * * * * * * * *
Good riddance! Who needs Troth anyway?! We're in a Thomas Pynchon novel which takes place in obsessively accurate backdrops of specific times and places but fills all these scenes of exacting detail with whimsical and far-fetched characters with fairly stupid names. Hey Truth! Don't let the hansom-cab's door hit you on your already sore backside on the way out of Chicago! Jerko!
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