Then Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. "There it is!" cried Sir James, eagerly. There was going to be no quarter between these two.
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