272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. I told him Valade had tried to borrow money off me and asked if he could vouch for the fellow. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. He was not used to not getting his way. .
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