She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. The rest. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She took up a book and threw it down again.
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