But who would pay the ransom? There was no one left in his family. Nasty, damp passages. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened.
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