272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. ’ ‘Yes, do. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. I care for you. It’s just hard to keep things from her. " "Think not to delude me, audacious wretch," cried the carpenter.
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