He was sliding into the city's knotty entrails, a poor, untouristed area where the sound of flapping laundry mingled with the bristly chatter of pigeons' wings. Without warning, Sasha pivoted around to face him. She stared, bewildered, into his face. 'Is that?' she stammered. 'Uncle—' 'My God! Sasha!' Ted cried, wildly mugging surprise. He was a lousy fake." (p. 213)
-Jennifer Egan
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