272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. S. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly.
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