A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. Nice, of course. "'Faith, an' you may say that," returned a watchman, who was wiping a ruddy stream from his brow; "they've broken the paice, and our pates into the bargain. For a time she promenaded the room. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her. Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. She loved him. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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