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The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. He declined to come in. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. As Jack appeared to be sinking fast, his fetters were removed, his own clothes were returned to him, and he was allowed a mattress and a scanty supply of bed-linen. But I shan’t try to stop you. “No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats.
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