In a moment, Roding and Lucilla joined him. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. I understand nothing of what you say. He was all alone, like herself.
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