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Ananias’ story ends with a surprise visit. The past comes knocking on his door, but the revelation to follow is not that which plagued his conscience for five years. In the epilogue we are once again transported back to his home. A final glimpse of places which Ananias will ever again experience in his lifetime.

The brief envisioning begins in Weymouth, on the north shore of the harbour where a steam packet service to Guernsey has just begun operations near the George Inn (featured in the photo below, identifiable by its signage, built in 1665) and the Customs House (identifiable by its brick façade and large bay windows, built in 1794).

It then moves on to Bridport at a location near the River Asker pictured below.

Pivotal to the narrative is a scene in which our visitor from the past tells of peering out between the houses on Chancery Lane and seeing a woman hanging out the washing (or a line of clothes as we would say in Newfoundland). A full two years since writing the retelling of this scene, I had an urge to test the accuracy of what I had written through Google maps. I was delighted (albeit quite surprised) to find one view of Chancery Lane looking out onto the rear gardens of East Street – and sure enough, it features laundry hung out to dry on a garden clothes line!

So now you and I have both come to the end of the book, and for my own part, I am hereby concluding any further writing about the people and places featured in it. Ananias has been released of his burden. Appropriately, the last words in the book belong to Grace.

I must now focus on completing my second novel. And for those of you who asked for a sequel, well it is, of a sort. Ananias’ two fully grown sons, James and John, figure prominently in my new story – but the narrator this time around is John's son, Vicory. It is a tale that once again reaches back to England, built on the speculation of how and why such a remarkable trip came to be.

I will leave you with a closing photograph taken from the property that Ananias purchased from Charlotte Saint John in 1835. It sums up how I felt upon finishing this tribute to my great, great, great grandparents.

I hope it also captures how you may have felt after reading my book.

Thank you following me on this literary journey.

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