” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. Doesn’t know where he is, thought the captain. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. Their conversation became stilted. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. A young man turned to pay the cabman. I’ve got to stay at home and remain in a state of suspended animation. The heroism of two beach combers had saved all on board and their own manhood as well.
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